Equality
by emoly01
Summary: In a world where Ed returned from the other side of the Gate and cannot use alchemy, and where Roy Mustang's eyes were never touched, the soon-to-be Fuhrer Mustang accompanies Ed on a seemingly harmless mission for seemingly no reason. Rating may change.
1. Chapter 1

Ed's heart was pounding. His hands shook and sweat rolled down his nose. Oh, how he wished he could use alchemy. He was so useless! Berating himself didn't get him anywhere, however, and he needed to focus on the situation. The darkness around him offered little to no protection. His breath was heavy and it made too much noise. Every time he moved, his clothes made a soft squishing noise because of the water he was drenched in. He was filthy, blood trickling down his face, from somewhere under his hair, where he had earlier received a blow to his head.

His red coat was nowhere to be seen and his leather jacket was on the ground beside him. He pressed his back against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. Nothing could save him now. Slowly, as not to make too much noise, he patted his body down. He pulled out a knife from his boot, and realized with dismay that that was his only weapon left.

He opened his eyes to reassess the situation. The General Bastard was unconscious on the floor five feet away, out in the open. The water on the floor was soaking Ed's pants, so he entered a crouching position. His flesh arm was limp and dislocated at his side. He still had his automail, so he could use his artificial limbs for defense if he really needed to.

No one seemed to be around, but he knew that as soon as he stepped into the light to help the General, who was bleeding all over the filthy stone floor, someone or something would attack him. He felt eyes on his back, despite the fact he was up against the cold, moldy wall. He closed his eyes again. Sitting here doing nothing wouldn't get him anywhere and Mustang was dying only five feet away from him. He had one option and he didn't like it. He was exhausted and useless and sore, and he only had one weapon. What else was there to do?

He steeled himself for worst case scenario and sprinted to the General's side. On cue, there was a low growl and a long, loud laugh that sent shivers down Ed's spine. He turned around to face the alchemist and the frightening chimera at his side. All he could see of his enemy was a large, maniacal grin and flashing glasses. The only visible parts of the chimera were its large sandy paws and long canines. What frightened Ed the most, however, were the strange green _human_ eyes it stared at him with.

The snarling mouth of the chimera opened, and the alchemist's voice echoed through the stone labyrinth about them. "Kill him." The alchemist's human body stepped forward, and Ed gripped his knife hard about the handle. The man lunged forward, and their dance began. Not willing to let the man get past him and to the General, Ed stepped forward and ducked, ramming his head into the man's gut. There was a disgusting heaving sound and Ed felt the warmth of vomit on his back.

There was no time to think about it, however, and he pushed the man off of him. The man was tall, a clear head taller than Mustang, and he was lanky. His nose was thin and his glasses slid off his nose and hit the floor. Ed's grip tightened on the knife and he swiped for the man's neck, only to have him lean back and avoid the lethal blade. The man's nose was lobbed off, however, and he was bleeding heavily.

This didn't faze him, and he lunged for Ed again. It was obvious, to Ed anyway, that his opponent was unskilled and didn't know how to fight. The only reason the man wasn't incapacitated by then was Ed's waning strength. Still, he took the opportunity and his knife sunk into the juncture between the alchemist's collarbone and neck. The slice continued across the man's neck and blood spurted all over Ed and Mustang.

The alchemist's human body fell to the ground, dead, while the chimera in the shadows howled in anger.

The sharp canines separated as the mouth of the chimera opened and he spoke, "Fool. How do you intend to fight me? Your metal limbs are useless. I can tear them from your flesh easily!" The chimera took one step forward, revealing a pink wolfish nose, and sandy fur around its muzzle. Ed took a step back, his expression set in determination and anger. He and Mustang would both get out of this alive. _We have to_, he thought, his eyes never leaving the threatening presence. But what could he do? Suddenly, the alchemist-turned-chimera froze. Ed followed its gaze reluctantly and his heart hammered at the sight of the gun at his hip. He didn't hesitate to point the sleek black weapon at the sandy chimera.

It snarled at him and shouted, "You don't even know how to use it, do you?" Ed swallowed and cocked the semiautomatic. He had to do this or he wouldn't get out alive. He wanted to be there on Al's bittersweet wedding day. He wanted to congratulate Riza and Havoc when they had their first child. He still hadn't confessed… to Mustang. Ed's hesitation to pull the trigger did not go unnoticed by the chimera.

Ed could almost see it grinning when it realized he was reluctant to use the gun and he turned a shade paler. He had to do it! His hand trembled, and he couldn't help but imagine the sound of gunshots at Ishval. This wasn't Edward's weapon. He couldn't make himself pull the trigger.

"You won't do it," the chimera said, confidence radiating in his voice. It stepped forward again and Ed flinched. Laughter echoed in the dark hall and Ed couldn't help but step backward again. His heel nudged Mustang's head, and Ed's golden eyes darted down to the unconscious man. He stepped to the right, after all this time not wanting to step on the dark hair encompassing the older man's head.

Ed steadied his hand and glared at the chimera. "You're wrong." With a flash and a loud _bang_, Ed pulled the trigger. He missed, however, having overestimated the recoil. The chimera laughed again and steadily approached Ed. The blond went to step back, but he nudged Mustang's arm, making him freeze. He pulled the trigger again. Again. A fourth time. This one hit the chimera's shoulder and it snarled, but it didn't relent, still grinning. A fifth shot. This caught the chimera's paw, and it limped while it stalked closer to him. Before Ed knew it, he was out of bullets and the chimera was standing not two feet from him.

It was still grinning and Ed didn't know what to do. "I will enjoy killing you and your comrade," the chimera growled, lunging for Ed's throat. In reflex, Ed reached up and they fell backward, Ed's feet on Mustang's chest and his automail arm jammed in the chimera's mouth. It snarled, pressing its paw harder on Ed's chest. Ed attempted to push the offending fangs away, but only succeeded in convincing the chimera that it needed to remove Ed's arm, as it had proclaimed it could do easily.

The scream that pierced the air could have easily woken the dead. The chimera was intent on pulling off Ed's automail arm. Ed stifled his scream, not wanting to give the chimera the satisfaction of his screams anymore, and grabbed a stone nearby with his flesh hand. The chimera pulled harder on the automail. Several snaps and electric fizzles made Ed see stars. Still, he focused on his dislocated flesh arm and hit the chimera as hard as he could in the head.

It yelped and jumped away, staggering. Ed forced himself to sit up, wincing as he did so. He regarded the chimera through a narrow gaze and pushed himself to his feet. He could feel the bruises all around his body, and he wanted to kick himself for being so stupid earlier for not realizing who it was that was controlling the chimeras. Then again, it had been an unexpected turn of events.

Still, as he stood over the stumbling chimera, which seemed to be temporarily blind, he realized he didn't know how to finish it off. He didn't know if he _could_ finish it off with those eyes… so human…

He turned and knelt next to Mustang, keeping a cautious eye on the chimera. It seemed it couldn't see and was walking around aimlessly, calling out, "Come out and fight me, brat! Turn the light back on!"

Ed ignored the shouts and examined Mustang's wound. The fatal one, anyway. His pulse was steady, although growing feint. His breath was short and sporadic. He had a deep gash cutting from his hip to his navel. He was bleeding steadily, although it wasn't at the quick rate Ed had assumed at first. Ed grimaced and rammed his shoulder into the wall, locking the joint back together. He looked around, his eyes narrowed in pain, and hesitantly removed his shirt. He tore off a relatively clean part. After all, the back was covered in slimy, disgusting vomit. He used every part of the cloth that he could to stop the bleeding and applied as much pressure to the wound as he could.

Suddenly, the shouting stopped and Ed glanced around, looking for the chimera. It wasn't anywhere in sight. Feeling rather paranoid, Ed looked up and behind him, unable to spot the blind creature. A snarl brought his attention to the corner he'd been hiding in before and he tensed when he saw its nose stuck in the air, sniffing. What could Ed do? It would easily be able to find them once it caught their scent.

He did the only thing he could think of. He leaned forward and shook Mustang. There was no way he could carry the older man with one arm whose shoulder could give out again at any second. He shook Mustang, trying desperately to think of something – anything – that would get them out of this mess.

Mustang wasn't waking up and Ed didn't want to make any noise, lest he bring the creature closer faster. Unable to think of much else, Ed grabbed the gun that he had earlier dropped without a thought. What could he do with it, though? It had no bullets. He saw the chimera approaching them again, its grin back in place.

He didn't think before lunging forward and jamming the handle of the gun as far as he could into the back of the chimera's head, where the head and neck met. It fell forward, obviously unconscious. Ed didn't want to be around when it woke up and he shook Mustang as hard as he could, gripping the gun hard in his hand.

"Bastard!" he hissed, "Wake up!" Mustang's obsidian eyes opened blearily and Ed felt a wave of relief. "Can you walk?" Mustang blinked a few times and pushed himself into a sitting position, clutching at his wound on his abdomen.

He looked around and asked, "Where are we?"

"Underground," Ed answered, "We need to get out of here – can you walk?" He stood and held out a hand, glancing over his shoulder at the still unconscious chimera. How longer did they have until it woke up? Mustang grabbed his hand and pulled himself up, wincing along the way. He placed a great deal of his weight on Ed, panting heavily in the blond's ear.

Ed took the weight, not in any mental condition to protest. After spending all night in the dark, wet, afraid of being caught, and fighting strange monsters, he just wanted to get out and get his automail fixed. The idea made him grimace; Winry would not be happy to see his automail banged up again. She treated him even worse now that he didn't have alchemy to back him up; even she realized how much more vulnerable he was without it.

Ed spotted stairs and immediately went for them. Anything going up was a good sign, just like how anything going down lead to their target when the chase had first started. Then again, when the hunt began, Ed and Mustang were the hunters.

Climbing the stairs was not a pleasant experience. First of all, their movements did not correspond perfectly, so even walking was somewhat awkward. Going up the stairs was more jostling than walking. On top of Ed's own pain, his throbbing head and sore body, and the sharp pain that occasionally sparked through his automail shoulder, he also had to deal with Mustang's weight on his shoulder. His balance was a little off, and with the extra weight, occasionally he would stumble or fall on his ass.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, they reached the top of the stairs. Ed was panting heavily and Mustang's wound was bleeding profusely, covering Ed in the red liquid. Ed placed Mustang on the floor of the old wooden house they were in, as oppose to under, like they were earlier. Angrily, he slammed the trap door shut.

Like a practiced medic, Ed ripped Mustang's sleeve with his teeth and used it to slow the blood flow. Mustang was getting paler and Ed didn't like that. What could he do to close the wound? He looked around, finding nothing in particular that could help. He returned his gaze to the blood staining the cloth in his hands. What should he do?

Then, the worst noise Ed could imagine sounded behind him. He slowly turned his gaze to the trap door, which had burst open and the corpse of the alchemist's human body stood in the opening. Ed blinked a few times, his breath hitched. Why wasn't it dead? How could he kill it? He realized the gun was still in his hand. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. This calmed him, and for a moment, he was at peace.

Yet it was only a moment. His eyes snapped open and he lunged at the corpse, set on keeping it away from his comrade behind him. Time slowed down. Ed was poised to bash the corpse's skull in from his left, and behind the dead man, he spotted glistening canines. His eyes widened as he realized all the chimera-alchemist had to do was leap and clamp its jaws around Ed's neck and it would all be over with. He realized too late that he was about to die.

And just as that moment of dread ended, time sped up, and there was a snap and a blinding light. A flash of heat. Two simultaneous squeals of pain. Suddenly, the danger was gone. Ed sunk down to his knees and dropped the useless gun. It clattered and fell down the stone steps and into the darkness below.

In front of him were two black things. Ed didn't know how long he sat there, staring at the burnt charcoal. He didn't know what they were, those things in front of him. Black and mangled. All that was left of the alchemist and his chimera were oversized pieces of burnt toast. Or was it the chimera and his alchemist?

"Fullmetal!" The shout brought Ed back to life and he turned his head to see Mustang sitting up, his hand over his wound. "Are we going to leave or what? I'm not going to last much longer and I doubt," he paused, took a deep breath and winced before continuing, "that you can lift me with one arm."

In a daze, Ed found himself walking out of the wooden house, an unconscious General on his shoulder. It wasn't fifteen minutes after they left the house that he found a doctor and they were in safe, unfamiliar hands.

Ed stared out the hospital window. He hated hospitals. Almost as much as he hated milk. His scowl had softened into a stare at noon. Now his expression was blank, and it didn't help anyone interpret how he was feeling. He couldn't be too upset, though, since Mustang sat in the bed next to his own. He was lost in his thoughts. When they were in the tunnels, under the Mind Alchemist's house, he had thought about all the things he would have missed out on if he had died. Al's wedding and Riza's first child he had to wait for, but admitting his feelings to the General Bastard next to him? That was under his control. Whether or not they had a relationship was up to the General Bastard. Ed could always hope…

"Fuhmajor," the baritone voice called. Ed turned his head from the window and stared blankly at Mustang. Even banged up and in a hospital bed, the man managed to look good. He was sitting up, papers in his lap and a pen in his hand. Their gazes locked and Ed wondered what would have happened if Mustang hadn't been there. "I must thank you," Mustang said, his tone one of deep sincerity, "because of our mission, the date of my," his mouth twisted in a smirk, "_promotion_ has been moved up. I'll be Fuhrer in two months."

Ed looked away, not giving any verbal response. They probably wouldn't have a relationship. Mustang would choose his position as Fuhrer over Ed any day. He probably didn't even have feelings for Ed anyway. What was the point in hoping?

"I should be the one thanking _you_," Ed muttered, "I almost died." A heavy silence enveloped them after the comment. It had been close, but they made it out alive. "My life," Ed whispered, "That's what I owe you. And I unfortunately can't give it to you."

Mustang chuckled and replied good-naturedly, "Well, a country is good enough for me." His humor fell away when Ed didn't respond. "Besides, didn't I promise I'd be there when it got dangerous?" Ed's eyes flickered to Mustang for a moment before looking out the window again.

He muttered lowly, "I'm so useless."

Almost immediately after the utterance left Ed's lips, Mustang asked sharply, "If you're so God damn useless, then why didn't that fucking chimera eat me while I was unconscious?" To this, Ed had no response and his mouth clicked shut. His eyes bore holes into the window and into the sunset that decorated Central in red and orange. "Besides," Mustang added, gentler this time, "we got out alive, didn't we?" Ed didn't answer this either, so Mustang went on, "Trust is a two-way street, Fuhmajor. I trusted you to watch my back, and you trusted me to watch your back. We both did our parts. Sounds fair to me."

"Where is a God damn desk when I need something to slam my fists on?" Ed muttered, crossing his arms in annoyance. The question took Mustang by surprise and his trademark smirk played across his face. It was something he'd noticed before; Ed always slammed his fists on Mustang's desk when he had a point to make or was just plain angry. Ed turned his irritated glare to Mustang's face and spat, "It _isn't_ fair because we aren't – we aren't equals anymore!"

This outburst caught Mustang by surprise and it showed on his face. Equals? Mustang was a General and Ed was a Major! How were they equal? The shock slowly slid off of Mustang's face while he tried to puzzle it out. Was that why it didn't feel like he was degrading himself by working with Ed? They were equal? Perhaps their ranks had nothing to do with it, and their personalities did. They'd always been equals. The only problem was that Mustang had permission to boss Ed around. Ed's defiance and anger had been his way of keeping himself at Mustang's level.

"Why aren't we equal anymore?" The question left Mustang's lips without him realizing it until Ed's stare hardened on him.

"As if you don't understand, bastard," Ed muttered, but answered louder, "I can't use alchemy. I'm…" Here, words failed him. How could he explain how much more power Mustang had? How could he describe how incompetent he felt? Or how vulnerable he was, while Mustang didn't have those weaknesses? How were they still equal when Mustang was on a completely different level of capability? "I… You…"

Mustang watched Ed struggle for words, unable to understand what it was that made the blond so flustered. Finally, Ed threw his hands in the air exasperatedly and shouted, "I'm just incompetent and you're not!"

Mustang rolled his eyes and sighed. "This again?" he asked tiredly, "I already told you – I saved you, but you also saved me. I was unconscious for most of the-!"

"But _you_ killed them!" Ed shouted, his voice overriding Mustang's in volume. Mustang leaned back after the outburst, surprise on his face yet again. Ed looked down at his hands and shook his head. "You killed them when it was impossible for me to do so."

Mustang's eyebrows pulled together in confusion as he asked, "Why does that matter? How does that make us… unequal?" Ed just shook his head in response and turned his head to look out the window. It was too difficult to explain when he was feeling so inarticulate.

A nurse entered the room at that moment and checked Mustang first. She checked his pulse and everything vital and then poked at his wound for a few minutes. He didn't complain and let her do her job. Then she moved to Ed, who gave her a death glare as she approached. After all, she had tried to feed him milk. She checked his vitals, the wound on his head, and his flesh shoulder. Apparently he'd torn several vital somethings in his shoulder, and the wound on his head was where he'd received a concussion.

After she concluded his head was okay, she took a step back and informed them pleasantly, "You have some visitors. Do you mind if they come in now or…?" Normally, she wouldn't have asked, except when she'd walked in, there was that heavy atmosphere that indicated she'd interrupted something.

"I don't care," Ed grumbled, "It's probably some pompous bastard patting this bastard's ass anyway." The nurse nodded and left the room, taking her time. Maybe if she waited as long as she possibly could, they'd settle whatever she interrupted before their guests came in.

A/N: So what do you guys think? Is it crap or should I continue, hmm?


	2. Chapter 2

Ed sighed heavily as he stared up at the hospital ceiling. Winry and Al left a while ago. Their visit had been a surprise, and he supposed it was meant to be a pleasant one, but Ed didn't like listening to Al, Winry, and Mustang converse about a day that Ed dreaded. It wasn't safe to be around Al when he was talking about his wedding day, because he was so perceptive.

But the visit had gone well without any weird questions, like: Ed, why do you look so glum? After all, weddings were supposed to be a happy occasion that made everyone that thought about them smile. This was one wedding that Ed was not going to enjoy being the best man for.

At the same time, it was refreshing to see someone who wasn't wearing a uniform or a stereotypically white coat, and Ed was glad Al was so happy. Even General Bastard seemed to be infected by the Happy Virus, as Ed liked to call it. It was an artificial virus that accompanied weddings, either wedding plans, actual weddings, or even the word itself. Ed speculated that he was immune. The Happy Virus wore off, though, after what some people call the "honey moon phase." Really, the symptoms of the virus were just washing away.

Ed's thoughts drifted. He couldn't sleep and decided that instead of brooding over that, he'd just sit and think. It was actually very troubling for Ed; it was near impossible to think of anything that didn't make him feel like gouging his eyes out in agony. There was Al's wedding. There was the weird unexpected relationship with Hawkeye and Havoc. That just made his gut twist in sympathy for Havoc. What was either blond thinking? Then there were his feelings for Mustang, which made him uncomfortable _since the man was right there_. Thinking of alchemy just made him want to cry out in frustration and hit something. It felt like a part of his soul was missing.

Eventually, he ended up replaying recent events in his mind…

_"Stop calling me Fullmetal!" A long silence followed Ed's outburst. He was standing in front of Mustang's desk, his fists still shaking on the wooden object between him and Mustang. The General continued to sit, unmoving. Their gazes locked and what Mustang said next surprised them both. _

_ "I apologize, Fu – Major." _

Ed's inner mind theatre skipped the rest of that scene and went straight to that night, sitting in Mustang's car. They had stayed late in the office and Mustang had offered to drive Ed back to his dorm.

_It was dark, and silent and stiflingly hot. Ed was beginning to regret accepting the offer for a ride home. It didn't help that Mustang found everything Ed did so God damn amusing. That smirk was beginning to piss Ed off. _

_ Mustang cleared his throat and began, "Fu – Major, I'd like to point out that-."_

_ "What's with that?" Ed interrupted, turning his head to the General, "You always start to call me 'Fullmetal' and then you stop and call me 'Major.' What, do I have my own rank now? 'Fuhmajor?'" _

_ This earned a long, hearty laugh from the General. Ed couldn't help but allow a small smirk of amusement. The General's laughter was so genuine, but it didn't make much sense to Ed. What was so funny about what he said? It wasn't humorless, but it also wasn't as hilarious as Mustang made it seem. _

_ When Mustang finally calmed down, he smiled – a real smile, not that damn smirk – at Ed and said, "You know, you deserve your own rank, Fuhmajor." Hence, Ed received his own rank: Fuhmajor Elric._

Ed smirked into the darkness of the hospital at nighttime. Good times, no matter how recent, always warranted a smile. Then again, good times could only be recent, because once they get too old, they're no longer "good times" but bittersweet memories. Still, Ed relished these thoughts and conversations. Things would change when Mustang became Fuhrer. It was inevitable. He had to enjoy it while it lasted.

_They were still in the car. Despite the heat, Ed was glad once again that he accepted the ride. Why the hell were the dorms so far away in the first place? Ed couldn't change it, although he wished he could. _

_ "Why would it upset me that Havoc and Hawkeye have a relationship?" Mustang asked curiously, examining Ed in his peripheral vision. Ed didn't answer at first, too absorbed in his own musings to really comprehend what Mustang just said. _

_ He shrugged at last and answered, "I always assumed you and Hawkeye had a thing going." This earned more laughter from Mustang, although it was more of a short bark than anything. It was decidedly less pleasant than his earlier laughter. The barking laughter came to a halt soon enough, and Mustang looked a little more serious than before he started laughing. _

_ "I used to think I liked her," he admitted, "but that was a long time ago, and I've found a much, much more suitable partner." Ed shivered at the word 'partner.' _

Ed frowned at the ceiling. Partners. Bah! He remembered when he attempted to get a partner. It was one of the reasons he was here, in this bed, alive. It was one of the reasons Mustang was in the hospital with him, injured.

_"Do you not want to go on this mission?" Mustang asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. Why would Ed not want to go on such a harmless mission? It was interesting, so he wasn't going to be bored or anything. _

_ Ed crossed his arms and looked down at his feet. "Well," he murmured, "I… Not really. Missions are…" he waved his hand in a circle, trying to think of the correct words to describe what he meant. "They're less exciting, but more dangerous and I don't like that combination." Mustang studied Ed for a long moment, waiting for further explanation. Ed shifted feet and let his hands drop to his sides. "I used to have Al to watch my back, you know, and I don't really trust anyone… I feel vulnerable in the field, without Al right there."_

_ "Are you asking for a partner?" Mustang asked with both his eyebrows elevated in slight disbelief._

_ Ed blinked and answered before he realized what he was saying, "Yeah, I guess." _

Of course, with Ed's attitude and behavior, it was impossible to find a suitable partner for him. Everyone they tried had wreaked havoc as Ed's partner, and the job never got done. It was impossible to find Ed a good partner. Ed grimaced as he remembered realizing Hawkeye played a part in the reason he was alive in the hospital with an injured General.

_Ed was about to fling the doors open to Mustang's office and complain about his last partner when he heard a female voice. This piqued his interest and instead of barging in, he pressed his ear against the door to listen. It was impossible to mistake Riza Hawkeye's voice. _

_ "I suggest you find a new list of people. No one on this list will be a good partner for him," she said. There was a short pause, and Ed assumed Mustang was doing something physically – maybe running his hand through his hair or something. It was surprising when Hawkeye was the one who spoke next. "Sir, Major Elric simply isn't compatible with anyone available." _

_ Mustang sighed and answered wearily, "You told me already. I hate choosing between his safety and my position, but… in the long run, I really can't accompany him on his missions all the time." There was another pause, and some utterances that Ed couldn't quite catch, and then Mustang declared, "You're dismissed, Hawkeye."_

_ Ed looked around hurriedly, not quite sure what to do. Quickly, he jogged down the hall and hid behind a corner. He listened while holding his breath. The door opened. It closed. Boots clonking along the hall and disappearing. He wondered if he should even bother going into Mustang's office to complain about his last partner. After all, it was his fault for being so stubborn and angry all the time. He could at least apologize, couldn't he? _

_ He rose to his feet and approached Mustang's door. Hesitantly, he knocked. Mustang called for him to come in and Ed pushed the door open with ease. Mustang looked up from his desk and raised an eyebrow. _

_ "No grand, loud entrance today, Fuhmajor?" he asked, leaning back in his chair._

_ Ed met his gaze and answered without hesitation, "No. I want to apologize." _

_ Mustang smirked that infuriating smirk and replied, "Well then I suggest you do so." Ed glared at him, not only for that comment, but for that stupid smug expression. Ed came in to apologize and already he felt like Mustang was laughing at him! How did the General expect an apology when he acted so maddeningly haughty?_

_ "Correction," Ed snapped, "I want_ed_ to apologize. Now, not so much." _

_ Mustang chuckled and replied evenly, "That's okay. I had a feeling you'd change your mind. Actually," he paused to catch Ed's gaze, "I was just about to call for you. It seems there isn't anyone within the military that can work with you as a partner; it seems you're incompatible." _

_ Ed crossed his arms and sarcastically commented, "Thank you so much for being so tactful about how you told me. I mean, there wasn't a possibility I'd be offended or anything."_

_ "So," Mustang went on as if Ed hadn't interrupted, "This is a deal I'll make." The word 'deal' caught Ed's attention and he turned immediately wary. What was Mustang thinking? "If you stop whining," Ed glared at him for that, but let him continue, "I'll accompany you on particularly dangerous missions." They stared at each other for a long moment. Mustang wondered if he could actually follow out on this promise, and within seconds resolved that he would. _

_ "The most dangerous missions are rarely ever the ones we expect," Ed commented quietly, "Are you sure you'll be there when it gets dangerous?" _

_ Mustang's smirk broadened before he leaned forward and answered just as quietly, "I can try."_

Ed sighed into the darkness. His eyes drooped with exhaustion and he turned his head to the window and watched the black sky turn purple, and then blue. He didn't resist the pull of sleep, but his body did. For one reason or another, his consciousness was holding on to wakefulness for as long as it could. Alas, sleep finally took him. And his sleep was restless with nightmares.


	3. Chapter 3

Ed gazed solemnly out the window. Should he tell Mustang? All the things he wanted to do before he died… This was the only decision in his control. Why couldn't he just do it? Just confess. He nearly scoffed at himself. Mustang would laugh in his face. But at the same time… he still wanted to try.

His next dilemma was this: how to confess? When? The atmosphere had to be right or else it could go awfully. He also had to do it before Mustang became Fuhrer. So he had a deadline, and some form of standards for the moment.

He turned his somber eyes to Mustang, who slept beside him in the hospital. Papers littered his bed. Ed watched Mustang breathe and sleep for a moment. Perfection. Peace. Would Mustang settle for anything less? For once in his life, Ed felt self conscious. Would Mustang accept him? After all, his automail… his scars… Was he too imperfect for Mustang?

He sighed heavily and was about to turn back to the window when the door slammed open. His head swiveled around to face Winry, who had all her automail equipment in hand. She looked furious. She'd known last time she visited that his automail had been banged up, but she seemed particularly upset at the moment. She was fuming.

She stomped into the room and Ed glanced nervously between her and Mustang, who was bound to wake up if she made too much noise. She slammed her tools on the table and placed her hands moodily on her hips.

"I can't believe you ruined your automail again!" she exclaimed exasperatedly, "You don't even have alchemy!" At the comment, Ed winced, but she went on as if she didn't notice the physical reaction to it, "It's too dangerous for you to do this! You're not safe!"

Ed put his finger to his lips, indicating quiet and hissed, "The bastard's sleeping. We need to keep our voices down." Winry rolled her eyes and pulled out a wrench. Ed eyed it warily, not willing to trust Winry's wrenches anymore. She seemed to take his words seriously, however, and she kept from making too much noise. Instead, she focused on trying to make Ed make noise by torturing him with his automail.

Ed could have sworn she sat there doing nothing but reattaching two wires for about half an hour – and they weren't supposed to be reattached, seeing as every time they did, a sharp pang of pain shot through his shoulder and made him squirm and clench his jaw. The rest of her visit was spent with her fixing his automail in silence, and occasionally hurting him on purpose. Ed had to grin and bear it like no other before him.

When she finally left, Mustang was still asleep and Ed's automail was fixed. The sun was setting. Ed could leave whenever he wanted, yet he stayed. Yes, Ed hated hospitals. Yes, the nurse tried to feed him milk. Yes, anyone could find him in here and bug the hell out of him. Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. But what was outside this room for him? A little brother who was moving on without him? A job that was going downhill fast thanks to his incapability?

No. Mustang was the only thing he really had anymore, and even that was slipping away quickly. He should just confess. And when he got rejected, he'd go back to work and fight as hard as he could to keep his position. When he finally got fed up and quit, he'd live as a has-been in Al's and Winry's basement.

"I'm already a has-been," he muttered to himself and crossed his arms. _Yet another imperfection that Mustang is bound to hate_, Ed thought glumly. He scowled at the window and wished he could just disappear.

"Is that what you think of yourself?" Mustang asked lightheartedly. Ed turned his scowl to the now conscious man, and his scowl deepened. Mustang seemed to take delight in Ed's anguish, and Ed was suddenly very sure that Mustang would reject him if he told him his feelings. Mustang smirked and said, "I think you're making excuses to yourself. You're not a has-been, Fuhmajor."

Ed rolled his eyes and retorted angrily, "Yeah, because I'm _so_ capable now. You'd beat me in a fight any day."

"Is that it?" Mustang asked with a growing smirk, "Comparing yourself to me? Come now, Fuhmajor. We can't all be fit to become Fuhrer." Ed seethed at the comment. He took a deep breath through his nose and wondered why the hell he was so attracted to this ass hole. Perhaps it was purely physical, and he only lusted after the bastard. He worked his clenched jaw and thought about it some more. When it came down to it, Mustang really was a great friend. Always ready to listen, and to come up with a solution… Ready to stand by and help whenever he could… He reminded Ed of Hughes in some ways. "Oh, I get it. Jealous of my height, then?" Mustang pried.

"That's it!" Ed exploded, and turned on Mustang, "I challenge you to a fight as soon as you're out of this fucking hospital!" Mustang smirked smugly and crossed his arms. Edward never failed to amuse him, and a fight did sound rather entertaining. It would be fun to compare how Ed used to fight when he had alchemy to how he fought now without it.

Mustang replied with barely suppressed laughter, "I accept your challenge, and I'll throw in a bet, too. If I win, you have to admit I'm a great Fuhrer and become my secretary." Ed, who didn't really care about a promotion since he wasn't so fond of his career anyway, decided not to think too much about that bet. Mustang was probably just doing it to degrade Ed since that was seen stereotypically as a woman's job, and was probably looking for a way to dump all his work on Ed.

"Fine," Ed snarled, "but if I win, you admit I'm right, that I _am_ a has-been, and you have to take me out on a date." He paused and corrected himself, "Two dates." He missed the look of utter surprise on Mustang's face.

A/N: Well, I wasn't really planning on writing anything after the first chapter, but I received a few questions and decided to answer them in the second chapter. I felt, though, that people were expecting more, so I decided to just throw this in there. Because of that, this has turned into something I really hadn't intended it to. That's okay, though. Its still fun either way ^^


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Let me begin with: I'm sorry. I apologize for two things; one: that it took me so long to post this chapter, and two: that this has turned from adventure to some sort of twisted romance. I usually don't write adventure, and it takes a lot out of me to write it. Romance just seems so much easier for me, so I apologize. I'm sorry if this is turning out way different than you guys imagined. I'm also sorry the last two chapters were super short. I tried to make this one longer. Now, on with the story!

Ed scowled at his hands folded neatly in his lap. Why did he have to go and make the stupid bet? He felt stupid and berated himself mentally. That was definitely not how he'd wanted to admit his feelings for the future Fuhrer. And yet that's how it happened, and his pride wouldn't let him revoke his requirements. He couldn't take back the past.

It was kind of backward, when he thought about it; after he proved he could beat the Fuhrer in battle, the Fuhrer had to admit Ed was a has-been. What would happen if they had a draw? Neither of their conditions would be met? Or both of them would be met? Or only part of both of them? Ed shook the thoughts out of his head. They were too confusing. He couldn't keep his mind from wandering back to the fight, no matter how hard he tried. Why did Mustang want Ed to be his secretary? Did he just want to dump all his work on Ed and piss him off? The man always seemed to have an agenda, but Ed couldn't figure this one out.

The reason Ed couldn't stop thinking about the fight was the fact it was supposed to happen tomorrow. He was sitting in his dorm room, fidgeting. He couldn't keep still. He was nervous, which seemed unlike him. But the last time he fought Mustang, he'd had alchemy. Now he was essentially useless and nothing he could do would help him win…

His gut squeezed and twisted in strange ways. His apprehension mounted with every passing second that he couldn't make himself get into bed and sleep. On top of his incompetence, he hadn't seen Mustang since he left the hospital. It was going to be the first time he would see Mustang since they made the bet. They'd had all this time to think about and analyze the situation. How would this turn out?

Ed groaned and hit his head against his desk. This just wasn't fair anymore! He was doomed to lose! Why did his damn pride always get in the way and put him in impossible situations? Moonlight streamed through the window and pooled around his head on the desk. What was Ed to do? There was no way he was going back out on the fight or the bet. Yet he didn't think he could win… He sat up with determination set on his face.

He'd just have to lose with dignity.

The day of the fight was warm and sunny. Ed scowled as he stepped outside and saw this. Mustang had the upper hand; he had his fire alchemy. This immediately put Ed in a sour mood, so he stomped his way down to headquarters instead of walking like a normal person. Then again, Ed wasn't exactly normal. Ever. Even on seemingly normal days, he stood out like a sore thumb. This garnered unnecessary attention, which was most likely the cause of all the trouble he often got into. Or perhaps his brutish attitude was the cause of that trouble. He really didn't know.

But this was not what Ed thought as he approached Mustang's office. Instead, he thought only about how he could win. In other words, he thought about how unfair the situation was. Mustang was definitely going to win. He could already hear Havoc jeering at Breda over the money he won, and Ed would have to deal with Breda's pouts and utterances of, "You let me down, Ed!"

With a little more vigor than usual, Ed slammed Mustang's office door open. No, they weren't going to fight in the office. That would cause too much damage to the building that Mustang would have to pay for. When he entered, though, Ed received no recognition. Mustang was furiously scribbling some papers, and Hawkeye had her gun trained on his head. Her eyebrow was twitching in annoyance, and because of this, everyone else was working diligently. That meant they would not pay attention to blond distractions clad in red and black.

Ed didn't mind being ignored, but he wanted to talk to Mustang before the fight started. He stalked to the desk and leaned over it to tower over Mustang. It didn't work too well because he was a lot shorter than he thought he was. Mustang's eyes flickered to him, but essentially stayed on his paperwork.

"How may I help you, Fuhmajor?" he asked in a clipped, professional tone. It wasn't anything personal; it was just the intimidating black gun pressed against his skull. His pen didn't cease moving, creating perfect flowing handwritten words. Ed kept himself from admiring Mustang's handwriting for too long. He couldn't afford to be distracted now, and he was bound to get strange looks if he took too long to answer. Then again, they all looked rather busy.

"I wanna talk to you," Ed answered as if it were obvious. "Why else would I be here?" His tone clearly expressed annoyance, and Mustang got the distinct impression that Ed thought the question was stupid. In Mustang's point of view, Ed's answer was stupid, not his question. Of course Ed had come to talk; Mustang wanted to know why and about what.

So he said, "Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of everyone else. What is it?" This time he let his annoyance color his own tone. Ed had no right to be irritated with Mustang for no apparent reason. Naturally, Ed thought the same about Mustang.

Ed crossed his arms moodily and snapped irritably, "No. I ain't saying this in front of everyone else."

Mustang slammed his hands on the desk and glared at Ed as he snarled, "Then you can leave and wait until I'm done working." They stared each other down, Ed practically fuming. Mustang could almost see the smoke wafting out of Ed's ears. Mustang, on the other hand, looked calm, calculating and pissed. It was difficult, the bystanders decided, to choose which one was scarier. Rash and angry got in awful, destructive situations, but calculated and angry amounted to awfully vindictive and purposefully destructive situations.

Their minds were made up as Hawkeye pointed her gun at Ed. Hawkeye was definitely the scariest out of the three.

"You can settle this on your own time," she said, somehow enhancing her menacing tone with how quietly she said it, "but we need this work done before your battle. If you'd be so kind, Major, as to leave us in peace." She cocked her gun. "Now." Ed's glare flickered from Hawkeye to Mustang, and finally settled on Mustang. Its potency had depleted, but it still displayed his frustration well enough.

"Fine," he huffed, "I'll see you later, General Bastard." He turned and stomped out of the office, slamming the door closed behind him. He forgot what he'd wanted to say in the first place, and only wanted to vent now. So he took a stroll around headquarters.

The sun rose higher into the sky until it reached its peak at noon. Hawkeye finally put her gun away and allowed everyone to leave. Ed pushed himself off of the wall he was leaning on outside and trudged sorrowfully toward the front of the building. He was upset he'd gone and argued with Mustang, even if they were both frustrated and nervous and… He sighed heavily and shielded his eyes from the blinding white astrological ball of flame in the sky. The sun was too hot and bright for Ed's taste.

He stopped in his tracks when he saw Mustang sitting on the steps leading up to the entrance. The man's jacket lay discarded on the ground beside him, and his shirt was unbuttoned, most likely in an attempt to cool down. His sleeves were rolled up just past his elbows. Ed could only imagine how hot it was inside. Mustang's dark gaze rose to Ed. They started at his feet and slowly trailed up his body to his face, where their eyes locked.

He stood and sauntered down the stairs. Ed raised his head defiantly in response to Mustang's gait. He slowly approached until he was only a few feet away, directly in front of Ed.

"Two dates?" Mustang asked quietly. His low baritone reached Ed's ears and made Ed's shoulders tense. The words themselves made Ed shiver.

Ed crossed his arms and scowled at him. "Yeah. And?"

Mustang nearly smirked as he answered, "You certainly don't act like you're attracted to me. Whatever happened to flirting?" Ed huffed in annoyance. Mustang was having too much fun with this. He probably thought Ed's feelings were hilarious and was only humoring Ed. Ed clenched his jaw. He was not backing down, even if Mustang was only using his feelings for kicks. He would try to win over this pompous bastard.

"It's hard to be nice when you're an infuriating bastard," Ed retorted, "but I do like you. You're…" he trailed off, and his shoulders dropped. His head tilted down again and suddenly he looked a bit sulky. "We'll talk about this later," he mumbled. Mustang let the smirk show on his face, to which Ed's shoulders tensed again and his chin raised defiantly. "It's almost time for the fight, right?"

Mustang chuckled and crossed his arms loosely across his stomach. "Why does fighting me prove?" he inquired curiously, "It's just another show of how much you don't like me. I don't get it." He seemed genuinely interested in the answer, but Ed just scowled at him. Ed huffed again, and leaned back on his heels. He looked Mustang up and down again – and Mustang saw the signs. His pupils dilated, his breath quickened ever so slightly… "Are you sure it isn't just lust?" Mustang asked lowly. Ed met his eyes again and Mustang clarified in a whisper, "Your attraction."

"No," Ed answered at last, "I'm not sure, but might as well give it a try." Mustang chuckled again, and a cry brought their attention to the front doors. Mustang turned around to see Breda at the top of the stairs, yelling something to the general public about the fight starting. It was amazing how quickly people crowded around them. There was plenty of space to move around and create general chaos, but there were _a lot_ of people. That was an understatement, but there wasn't any other way to describe it. The crowd was dense. And it happened within minutes.

Ed took a step back from Mustang, and gripped the knife that sat next to the gun on his hip. Looking at the gun reminded Mustang of a conversation he'd once had with Hawkeye…

"_Sir?" Hawkeye asked concernedly. She stood beside Mustang, who sat at his desk while he fiddled with a pen. It was getting late, and no one was in the room but the two of them. The fireplace glowed and illuminated the room ever so slightly. A candle sat on his desk, beside a pile of finished papers that he had to double check and send out. Mustang hummed to let her know he was listening. She asked without hesitation, "Permission to speak freely?" _

"_Of course," Mustang replied without thinking. No matter what she was going to say, he knew it would be helpful or important in some way. _

_She sighed and said quietly, "Major Elric is defenseless. He needs a weapon, sir." The words sank into Mustang's head and he the slight imprint of a frown formed on his face. He'd noticed Ed got banged up pretty easily recently, but he didn't know what to do about it. The kid could protect himself, if nothing else. _

"_He has knives in every secret nook and cranny of his clothes and body," Mustang deadpanned, "He doesn't need another weapon." _

"_And yet he's bruised and beaten after every mission he returns from." _

_Mustang froze as she said this. It was true. Was it enough to keep him safe? Was this even any of Mustang's business? "What do you suggest?" he asked. He turned around to face Hawkeye and their gazes locked. Hawkeye was always too serious. She needed to lighten up, but Mustang wouldn't tell her that. Things would never get done if she was any different. And he liked her the way she was. Scariness and all. _

"_Give him a gun." _

_Silence. And then Mustang whispered ever so quietly, "He won't use it. Ever. It… It just isn't his weapon." _

"_It's better than what he has now, sir," Hawkeye insisted firmly, "He needs it. He'll use it when he must. He's not a complete fool, like you." Mustang let a grim smile crawl onto his face. _

"_No. I suppose he isn't." _

Mustang shook his head and brought his attention back to the present. Ed stood before him, several feet away, ready to fight. Mustang reached into his pants pockets and pulled on his gloves. It was time to fight, not sit around and think about the one weapon Ed was never going to use in this struggle. The weapon that had saved their lives in the basement of the Mind Alchemist. The weapon Ed never even thought about. The weapon that was meant to kill.

Ed didn't kill people. That's why he'd never use the gun. And suddenly Mustang felt awful and proud and… outmatched.

Hawkeye's gunshots sang in their ears, loud and clear. It made their ears ring and some of the people in the crowd jumped. Ed unsheathed a knife as he ran at Mustang. His feet hit the pavement lightly and quickly, but thudded loudly because of his muddy boots. He let out a short cry as he swung at Mustang, but the General stepped to the side and made dodging the attack look easy. Quickly, Ed dropped onto his hands and his feet swiped at Mustang's. Mustang kept up and stepped just out of Ed's reach.

"Gee, Fuhmajor," Mustang commented with a smug smirk, "A little short there?" Ed let out a frustrated cry and flung himself at the General. Mustang's smirk dropped and he side stepped two attacks, one right after the other. Ed threw his knee up to Mustang's groin, but Mustang let out a strangled gasp and jumped up onto the stairs. "Goodness, Fuhmajor. Calm down, we just started." Ed paid his words no heed and sprang forward. A loud snap sounded through the air, and Ed switched gears. He jumped backward with a small grunt, managing to barely miss the searing flames Mustang had conjured.

"Bastard!" Ed shouted and flung one of his knives at the General. Mustang's eyes widened and he side stepped again. The knife sliced open his sleeve and he growled. Another knife whizzed by and sheared a lock of Mustang's hair off his head. He barely managed to keep it from lodging in his temple.

Back in the crowd, Breda stood beside Feury. The two of them watched the fight intently, hoping they would win their bets. Feury frowned and commented, "They're really going at it, huh? That was real close." A knife flew above their heads, and Feury flinched.

Breda shook his head, a small frown in place. "Yeah. I hope they don't hurt each other.

"Naw – if they were serious, the chief would be dead. The General's afraid of hurting him." Feury and Breda turned to look at Havoc, who had a cigarette between his lips. His eyes were glued on the fight, as if it was a meal to be eaten. His eyes were ever calculating what Ed's and Mustang's interactions, trying to figure out what was really going on. "Mustang's holding back," he commented with his usual grin in place. "Probably afraid the chief can't deal with his full power since the chief doesn't have alchemy anymore."

Feury and Breda turned back to the fight. Ed cried out again and jumped onto Mustang's back. Mustang's eyes widened and he felt a knife against his throat. Before he even consciously recognized the danger, he fell onto the stairs and crushed Ed under his weight. Ed's eyes widened and a gush of air whooshed out of his lungs and past Mustang's ear. His grip loosened just enough for Mustang to rip himself out of Ed's grip. He spun around and snapped his fingers.

Ed rolled to dodge the flames and sprang at Mustang again. Sweat trickled down his brow and his hair was matted against his forehead. Mustang was in a similar state, with blood trickling from a minor cut on his cheek. He grabbed Ed's wrist, and twisted it. The knife fell from Ed's hands, but he raised a metal fist and punched Mustang in the nose. Mustang stumbled back and blood streamed steadily from his nostrils.

"That's for holding back!" Ed shouted angrily. Before the utterance left his lips, a snap reached his ears. He grunted and ran behind a stone wall.

Mustang called out, "Coward!" A knife nicked his ear, having come from a place Mustang hadn't expected. He hardly managed to move in time to keep it from killing him.

Havoc commented with some amusement, "The chief's holding back as well. That should have hit him." Feury looked alarmed, but Breda looked honestly confused. Havoc, on the other hand, grinned like he understood everything that was going on. He probably understood most of it, but any sensible person should have been skeptical.

When their attention returned to the fight, Ed sat on his knees, his chest heaving. His entire left sleeve was gone, and the edges were singed, revealing a gleaming metal arm. His arm was raised to Mustang, and in his gleaming hand he grasped his gun, cocked and pointed straight at Mustang. Mustang was poised to snap, right in front of Ed's face.

Havoc grunted and commented quietly, "Isn't that how it ended last time?"

Their breathing was labored and they were sweaty. Blood crusted on Ed's forehead and in his hand. His flesh hand throbbed in pain, as did his head. Mustang's expression was grim. Sweat trickled down his back. When he stared at Ed, he no longer saw the child from Ishval. He saw a young man who was more experienced in danger, sadness, and the wickedness of man than most adults. He saw the Fullmetal Alchemist, whether or not he could use alchemy.

"Which is faster: your flames or my bullet?" Ed asked breathlessly.

Hawkeye pushed both of their arms out of the way and stood between them, her feet planted firmly on the ground. "It seems your skills are still equal." Ed blinked and rose to his feet. Hawkeye called out to the crowd, "General Mustang won!" People began to stir, preparing to leave. There were several exclamations here and there of confusion or outrage. No one really knew why Ed lost. Mustang removed his gloves and stuffed them in his pockets. Ed scowled and gritted his teeth in seething anger. Mustang approached Ed with his hands crossed loosely across his stomach.

"Why'd you lose?" Mustang asked quietly. Ed held up the gun and flicked the safety off. Mustang blinked and asked incredulously, "Its safety was on the entire time?" Ed nodded stiffly and shoved the gun into its holster. He winced as he did so, and Mustang noted with some remorse that the scar tissue around Ed's automail looked red and puffy. He sighed and said, "The way I see it, it was a draw. So how 'bout we forget about proclamations of who's better, whether or not you're a has-been, or if I'll do a good job as Fuhrer."

Ed scowled and asked, "What about the bet?"

Mustang smiled softly and suggested slyly, "Two dates and a new job as my secretary?"

Ed watched him uncertainly for a moment and agreed hesitantly, "Alright. What will Hawkeye do if I'm your secretary?"

Mustang chuckled and whispered, "She'll stand behind me and tell me to do my paperwork."


End file.
